The man with the hat looked at Robin, and said softly, “You would waste a bullet, on this scum? This man is barely worth the salt of his sweat. Keep your bullet Robin.” He stepped forward and drew his knife, even as the man lifted his hand, pleading, he plunged it down into the man’s head.
Robin stared, and his hand slowly went to his knife. As slow as he was, it was still a motion that The Sheriff caught. “You would fight me, Robin? I saved you. I pulled you from the ashes of that building, I nursed you to health, and now you would turn on me?”
He moved his hand much faster now to the blade, and stepped forward, his hand flicking the knife out of the scabbard, and sending it twirling end over end, directly into the skull of a Bleeder less than an inch behind The Sheriff. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Robin replied.
I fell onto the stairs of the fire escape, quickly vaulting off and waiting a few moments before reaching out to grab the stairs, stopping my momentum, and thus in theory stopping me from becoming a bunch of protoplasm on the pavement.
Two more repeats of the same process later and I was on the floor. Immediately, I heard the growl of Bleeders, not behind me but directly in front, maybe half a step away. I grabbed an arrow and drew back the bow, sending the arrow flying into the Bleeder’s skull, though it was embarrassingly far from where I had aimed.
It took me a full two more shots to realize that the problem wasn’t me, it was the bow I was working with. The draw strength was lower than my last one cause I was using a type of string that quite honestly was not designed for this.
Thus when I aimed somewhere, the arrow would fall lower than I was used to, making me sometimes miss my shots. When I realized that I immediately adjusted the height I was aiming at, and continued shooting. Now, Bleeders were falling left and right, their rotting corpses simply collapsing, and as I shot them, even more began to show up, and more. And more, until the entire alleyway was fenced in.
I discarded my bow, sliding it into my now nearly empty quiver. I left my gun in the holster, as it was the kind of weapon that was useful for fighting people, the massive punch behind the gun was even more valuable than the gun itself. I had half a dozen other handguns I could use at home. But my favorite was the revolver.
The punch behind the gun was invaluable for fighting men, and the fact that sometimes it could go right through some Bleeder’s heads, and into others was also amazingly valuable. But I wasn’t going to use it.
Instead, I cracked my knuckles and ran into the foray. I knew that as long as I didn’t stop moving, I had a fairly good chance of not getting caught, and thus bitten. And as long as I wasn’t bitten, I would be fine.
Nothing else could stop me. I don’t feel pain. I’ve survived wounds that could kill elephants. I am immortal. I am a god. And this, killing, is my realm. It was one of the singular things that I could still do with any remnant of skill. I was atrocious at any type of social interaction, and the closest thing I was good at after killing, was looting. And that was an extension of killing.
I was shaken out of my thoughts when I heard a growling right behind me, and without looking, I kicked directly behind me, with enough force to send the bleeder flying backward, and smashing its head open on the walls.
Ahead of me, the horde approached slowly stumbling, but they approached, and I knew that when they reached me it would be a fight for my life, and if I stopped, I would be screwed. I looked around the alleyway, and quickly found what I was looking for.
A massive wooden pole. It was probably used to hold up canopies outside of stores or something like that, but considering the dead body and the blood stains I found next to it, I’m guessing it served a very different purpose for this woman.
And now, it would serve that same purpose for me. Holding it in two hands, I swung the bottom end at the approaching Bleeder and grinned in satisfaction as its head crumpled around the staff.
The next one met a similar fate with one end of the staff going through the soft spot under its chin. Instantly, I swung the opposite end of the staff forward, and hit yet another Bleeder, this time the staff went through its eye.
As I had suspected, the Bleeder that I had stabbed under the chin had come swinging around to hit me, and I quickly pushed it out of the way, knocking it off the staff, and then pulled the other end of the staff out of the other Bleeders eye socket.
That was three Bleeders dead. Out of a horde of more than five hundred. I quickly looked behind me and found a wooden crate to stand on, and I quickly jumped onto it, minimizing the chance of being overwhelmed by the bleeders, and thus getting bitten. The crate was maybe two and a half feet high, and two feet wide.
So they could get to me, it would just not be very likely, considering I’d just bash their brains in before they would have the time to get to me. Now the only thing that could put me in any possible real danger would be bleeders getting behind me, or someone coming, thinking I need assistance.
Fortunately, I don’t think any of them are stupid enough to come down here with a horde flooding in… Behind me a voice asked, “Need a hand?”
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I whirled around to see Muramasa standing casually behind me, leaning on his sword, which was partially embedded into the concrete of the alleyway. I cursed then said, “It would be easier,” I grunted as I swung the staff into another Bleeder’s head, “If you weren’t here. No offense, but I don’t trust you. You tried to kill me.”
Muramasa looked at me and grinned. “Can you tell me that if this had been your group, you would have done anything different?”
“No. But I can at least be righteous about it.” The point of my staff found its way through one Bleeder's eye, out the back, and into another Bleeder's eye.
Muramasa frowned, I think he was trying to figure out whether or not I was joking. And then I saw him shrug, and he stepped forward, letting go of the sword, and reaching behind him to grab it, and threw it directly forward, splitting open at least five Bleeder heads. The sword embedded itself into the last Bleeder’s head, and Muramasa stepped forward, cracking his knuckles, and then grabbing a Bleeder, tearing its head off with a roar, and hurling, both the still biting head and the body into the horde.
Directly after that, the madman charged into the fight, creating a massive cone-like opening. He punched, hacked, kicked, and all around threw himself into the fight until he got his sword. And then I realized what Olivia had meant by me being lucky that I survived the fight with him.
The man was incredibly talented, easily one of the strongest men I’d ever met, and he was fast. He was like a demon level fast, the sword was less a sword and more a flashing blade of pure light. Wherever it struck, blood and viscera were sent flying, the pieces that kept these Bleeders walking soared through the air.
With Muramasa occupying their attention, I pulled out my bow and started shooting, one shot after another, after another, specifically targeting any of the Bleeders behind Muramasa or that he hadn’t managed to incapacitate with those mighty swings of his sword. A couple of times, I had to strike out at any bleeders that had snuck up on me, I would knock them away with a kick, and then send an arrow through their forehead.
I was so deeply in a battle trance, that the instant I heard a gun being loaded, I didn’t look behind me, I didn’t turn around, I simply dropped to the floor. The bullet whistled over my head as I dropped, and sliced a line in my hair.
I turned over, onto my back and pushed myself up, pulled an arrow, knocked it, and stopped. The man standing in front of me, was tall, a good six feet five inches, and he had a small smile on his face, an unhinged look in his eyes, and a gun in his hand. I lowered my bow slowly until the point was centered on the floor.
He had brown hair, brown eyes, and the kind of face that was instantly forgettable, the one that thousands of other people in the world have. And yet this man in front of me was extraordinary. He was dressed in a pair of jeans, a black button-down shirt, and a leather jacket. On his belt hung sheaths for two knives and a machete. On the other side of the belt was the holster for the gun he was holding. And perhaps most noteworthy of all, he had a sheriff's hat on his head.
“What’s wrong Robin?” He stepped forward, and instantly, the arrowhead that had dropped was brought up and centered right between his eyes. He looked surprised and then said, “Why are you here?”
“I could ask you the same,” I replied, never taking my eyes off of his hand, expecting, no waiting for his fingers to tighten in an attempt to kill me.
“Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that. Now answer my question.”
I didn’t reply, and instead, in one smooth motion, removed the arrow from the string, and put it into my quiver, then put my bow on the crate I stood on and hopped down. I looked behind to check if Muramasa was okay, but couldn’t see him. I shrugged and turned back to The Sheriff.
I smiled once, briefly, and then, while pulling out my revolver, I asked, “Shall we?”
The Sheriff smiled brightly and dropped the hand holding his pistol. He nodded, and replied, “We shall.”
We walked forward until we were nose to nose, and then I took one step backward, and he did the same. This repeated itself nine more times until we were both twenty paces apart. And then, without exchanging a word, we both turned our backs on each other. While his back was to me, I checked if my gun was loaded, and fortunately, it was.
He said, in a loud voice, “3.”
I replied, “2.”
And then, while he said, “1,” we both turned around, our guns centered at each other, and then I was rolling, and I fired my gun three times. The first time, his hat went flying into the air, the second, a hole was punched in the top of it, and the third, a second hole was punched, from one side to another. The hat fell to the floor, and The Sheriff smiled. “Well done my friend. Next, it is two.”
I nodded, and then loaded my gun back up to eight bullets, then outstretched my hand. He rolled his eyes and tossed me the gun, I caught it, and then slid it into a pocket on my vest, and turned walking out.
The Sheriff stopped me by saying, “Robin, you have one more. And then one of us has to die. You know that right?”
As I was about to answer, Muramasa came up from behind me, looked at the man in front of me, and saw The Sheriff's hat. He very rightly assumed that this was the man I had told him about, and charged directly at the Sheriff.
Points in Muramasa’s favor, he was very clearly much stronger than The Sheriff. And he had his sword. Of course that mattered almost nothing, as The Sheriff grabbed a knife, and threw it at Muramasa, and when he blocked it, The Sheriff stepped forward, moving almost as fast as his knife, and jamming his elbow up into the swordsman's face.
Muramasa staggered backward, his arms windmilling, and he dropped his sword. The Sheriff knelt and picked it up, moving slowly and leveling the blade at Muramasa’s throat. He was about to push down when I shot the blade with the gun The Sheriff had handed me. “He’s with me.”
The Sheriff moved the blade back to Muramasa’s throat, and I shot it again. “I won Sheriff. Leave us.”
The Sheriff paused, then threw the blade down, and grabbed the knife he had thrown at Muramasa. “Very well Robin. But you have one more chance to leave this city. Leave and never come back, or I will have to kill you.”
I laughed, “You can come and try Sheriff. You have before and we all saw how well that went.”
The Sheriff nodded slowly, then said, “Yes, but before I fought with anger. Now I fight for the hundreds of people I protect. And what do you fight for Robin? Yourself?”
I paused, then said, “Leave now Sheriff. Or I will kill you.”
“Very well Robin, until we meet again.” He spun on his heel and began walking away, the soft footsteps sounding like bombs in my ears. It wasn’t until he was out of sight that Muramasa stood up and grabbed his sword.
“What in hellfire was that?” He asked.